


Madam van Dyne's

by Amuly



Series: Marvel's 1872 [7]
Category: Marvel 616, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Western, Character Death, Horror, Multi, Western
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 09:46:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4055470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amuly/pseuds/Amuly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Janet van Dyne traveled six thousand miles by sea and two thousand by land. She left behind her family in China and her (former) husband in San Francisco. Now she's washed up in Rescue. And she'll be damned if this town is going to beat her when the rest of the world couldn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Madam van Dyne's

The sun had barely touched the window when the room's occupant arose from the bed. The petite figure strode across her room on feet like a firefly's whisper, thin arms and wrists reaching for the ceiling. She yawned, shaking the last cobwebs from her mind as she settled in front of her vanity.

Strewn across her desk, Janet van Dyne examined the tools of her trade. Powder to make her face whiter, pencils and brushes and gels to make her eyes seem bigger, wider. Red for her lips, black to fill in her thin brows. Jan began her morning ritual, turning this way and that in her mirror as she watched herself transform from a pretty Asian girl into something a little more acceptable this side of the Pacific.

She didn't have to do this anymore, she knew. Back when she washed up on this country's west coast, her livelihood had depended on looking white enough. Now, in the town of Rescue, people didn't seem to care as much. And Jan didn't depend on them wanting her: she had a business, her show that her girls put on every night. Not to mention the cash she earned on the side as a seamstress, creating custom, fantastical outfits for the rare special occasion. Jan patted a last dab of powder under her chin, checking one last time to make sure it was even. Old habits, and all that.

Downstairs, people bustled. They wouldn’t open for hours, but the girls were practicing their choreography, trying on new outfits, chattering and humming and singing their way through the morning. Jan checked the basket for repairs: a few dresses, a pair of shoes or two. She’d send the shoes out to the cobblers, but she’d handle the dresses herself. Ms. Blaire would lead the girls through their choreography this morning—Jan could sit in the audience and work her way through the dresses, make the necessary repairs while keeping an eye on things.

Something caught her eye. One of the girls, sneaking in through the front door. Jan narrowed her eyes at her. Dusty shoes, rumpled clothes. She’d been out the night.

“Gwen Stacy!” Jan called out.

The girl froze. When she caught sight of Jan staring at her, she winced, but continued inside. Jan tapped her foot as the sweet young thing hurried her way over to her.

“Madam van Dyne?”

“What are the rules?”

“I wasn’t breaking them, I _swear_.”

“You weren’t home,” Jan pointed out. “That’s breaking curfew.”

Ms. Stacy winced and amended herself. “I wasn’t breaking the _spirit_ of the rules.”

Jan quirked one eyebrow at her girl. “And what exactly is the ‘spirit’ of my rules?”

Ms. Stacy smiled worriedly. “To keep us from seeing men. Or working off the books. But I wasn’t!”

“Where were you, then?”

Ms. Stacy opened her mouth quickly to answer, then snapped it shut. Her face grew red.

“Well?”

“It’s not going to sound proper.”

“Out with it, and I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Mr. Stark’s.”

Jan barked a laugh. She could understand why Ms. Stacy had hesitated before answering. That _didn’t_ sound proper. Everyone knew what a Casanova Mr. Stark was. Most everyone. Janet van Dyne, however, was more than most people. She knew that ever since Sheriff Rogers’ eventful birthday party last month, Mr. Stark’s attentions had been wholly directed elsewhere. And that once something had Mr. Stark’s focus, it did not stray. Whatever you said of the man, this much was true.

Still, no reason not to string Ms. Stacy along for a moment more. She _had_ been breaking the rules, ‘spirit’ or no. “And what exactly were you doing at Mr. Stark’s?”

“Nothing untoward!” Ms. Stacy promised. “You know I’m saving money for school, back east?” Jan nodded. “Well, Mr. Stark's been working with me. Teaching me." Panicked, Ms. Stacy looked quickly up. "Nothing off the books! I haven't been moonlighting Madam, I promise! His tutelage is in exchange from my assistantship. And, I think, perhaps for my company. He is less lonely now that the Sheriff stays over more nights than not, but. He likes to talk."  
  
Jan nodded soothingly. She knew exactly what all her girls got up to in their time off, and what they did not. Ms. Stacy was not disassembling. "You have always been upfront in saying you were saving for an education."  
  
Ms. Stacy nodded, bright smile returning. "And Mr. Stark has been kind enough to help me gain a head start. I am more interested in the... Biology, is what he says. He is more focused on mechanical systems. But there is so much still I can learn from him, and that he is happy to teach."  
  
Smiling, Jan stood on her toes so she could run a hand through Ms. Stacy's pale blonde hair. Her schoolgirl fresh good looks were a stark contrast to Jan's older, "exotic" beauty. It was good to have her around, give the men some options to satisfy their differing predilections. Still…

“How much longer do you think it will take?” Jan asked her, smoothing one blonde lock back in place.

Ms. Stacy smiled, cheeks dimpling. “Oh, another two years at least. I don’t just need enough for the journey, or the school, but everything in between. I might be able to get a job once I’m back east, but I don’t know. I want to be prepared for everything.”

Jan nodded. “Good girl.” She tapped Ms. Stacy’s wrist encouragingly. “Smart girl. But you still broke curfew. Which means bedpan duty for you. Off with you.” Jan gave Ms. Stacy’s rear a quick pat.

Ms. Stacy sighed loudly, but hurried off. There might have even been a skip in her step. Brushing her hands off on her black and yellow dress, Jan considered her for a moment. Then she shook her head and returned to her daily chores. It was good the girl had goals and was working so steadily toward them. If only everyone were so ambitious.

Jan picked up a dress from the pile and examined the tear in the groin. She frowned. And yet somehow, her own ambitions had gotten her _here_.

* * *

 

The place was quiet for dinner. The girls having a lie-down between morning practice and the supper show this evening. The place wasn’t open to the public now, but Jan smiled when the doors swung open. Two women stepped through, squinting in the change in light.

“You’re late,” she chided, although they were no such thing.

The woman dressed in trousers and a button-up shirt hurried forward to scoop Jan up in a hug. The crinoline in Jan's dress crinkled noisily as Ms. Danvers swung her this way and that. Jan batted at her, though against this giant of an American woman, Jan had little hope of beating herself free. “We are _not_ ,” Ms. Danvers told her, before finally setting her down.

Jan scowled and patted at her dress, pretending to be put-out. “Ms. Maximoff,” she greeted the second woman. Ms. Maximoff smiled brilliantly, paillettes in her skirt tinkling musically as she strode forward and pulled Jan into a gentler embrace.

“It’s lovely to see you, Ms. van Dyne.”

“Who’s bar-tending for the lunch crowd?” Jan observed as they settled at a table. The food was already spread out and waiting—Jan had one of the girls do it for her before she laid down for her afternoon nap.

“Pietro agreed to cover for me,” Ms. Maximoff told her as they sat down.

Jan snorted. “And you expect to have any customers left when you return?”

Ms. Maximoff _tsked_ as she accepted a glass of wine from Jan. There was a glass of water in front of Ms. Danvers. “His bedside manner may leave much to be desired, but he’s the fastest server this side of the Mississippi. I think my customers will be fine for one afternoon.”

"How's business?" Carol asked.

Jan shrugged, fingers scraping daintily over the whorls in her table. "Slow. Slower still, since Mr. Stark stopped patronizing us some weeks back."  
  
Ms. Danvers' eyebrows inched up to her hairline, though Ms. Maximoff seemed less surprised. Tsking softly, Jan reached a hand out to Ms. Danvers' temple.  
  
"Don't do that, sweet thing. You'll wrinkle."  
  
Ms. Danvers scowled but schooled her expression into something less shocked. "I suppose he's just preoccupied with an experiment..." she speculated.  
  
Ms. Maximoff scoffed. "Unless that experiment is tall, blond, and handsome, I think we both know what's keeping him away from van Dyne's," Ms. Maximoff pointed out.  
  
Ms. Danvers shrugged helplessly. "Well I didn't want to _assume_. Unlike you gossip-mongers."  
  
"It's hardly gossip if you hear it from the horse's mouth," Jan pointed out. She studied her fingernails. "Or through the tragically thin walls of this establishment. Sheriff Rogers' birthday was quite the event—Mr. Stark made sure of it."  
  
Ms. Danvers wrinkled up her nose while her wife giggled girlishly. "To have been a fly on _that_ wall," Ms. Maximoff sighed.  
  
"And there goes my appetite. No thank you," Ms. Danvers grumbled, pushing her plate from her.  
  
Jan quirked an eyebrow at her. "From what I heard the two enjoyed themselves. Our Sheriff especially." Ms. Danvers gagged dramatically. "Oh come now: they are two truly beautiful men. No shame in enjoying the physical aesthetic of those two together."  
  
"No shame," Carol agreed. "If you find men attractive."  
  
Jan smirked. "That's right: you are an exclusive lover of the female form."  
  
"One in particular."

Jan rolled her eyes as Ms. Danvers leaned in for a kiss from her wife, but there was little heat behind the gesture. “At least Ms. Maximoff agrees with me,” Jan pointed out.

Ms. Maximoff only giggled, which was answer enough for Ms. Danvers to gasp in affront before slouching down in her seat in a dramatic pout. Ms. Maximoff’s hand quickly slipped under the table to squeeze at her wife’s thigh, which did wonders for her disposition. Jan ignored their antics. Goodness knows she saw enough of it running a brothel.

“But you don’t suppose Mr. Stark is serious?” Ms. Danvers asked. “He never seems to be.”

Jan waved her hand. “Mr. Stark is serious when he deems something worth being serious over. He just has a very high threshold for what he deems serious. The sheriff, it would seem, surpasses that threshold.”

“If you say.” Ms. Danvers sipped at her water.

“I have the fullest of confidence in my assessment of Mr. Stark’s character. I let one of my girls run about with him all hours.”

Ms. Maximoff hummed. “Well, there’s trust, and then there’s trust…”

Jan shook her head assuredly. “The sheriff has him captured, utterly and hopelessly. I assure you.”

Ms. Danvers waved her hands at Jan. “Enough of that. I come in town once a fortnight and here we are, talking about _Stark_. If I wanted to hear _that_ I’d just sit in the saloon and listen to Stark ramble on about himself to our sheriff. Goodness knows the man can talk about his achievements until the cows come home. So! Ms. van Dyne. How is _your_ love life?”

Jan scoffed. “What love life?”

“Surely you must be looking…” Ms. Maximoff pressed.

Jan rolled her eyes. “Hardly. One husband is enough for my lifetime, thank you. And I left him along with my other unnecessary baggage back in San Francisco.” Jan paused, then sighed wistfully. “Some of that luggage was sinfully expensive, too.”

“Who ever mentioned a husband?” Ms. Danvers pointed out. “I asked about your love life.”

Jan laughed, relaxing into her seat. She’d missed her friends. Too much work and she forgot how much she missed easy times like these. “Alright, fine: are we to play eligible bachelor?”

“My brother is always-”

Both Jan and Ms. Danvers booed Ms. Maximoff, who threw her hands up in exasperation. Jan laughed and laughed as the sun crossed the sky.

* * *

 

Jan tapped her fan against her leg as she counted heads. No, this wasn’t right.

“Where is Ms. Stacy?” she called out.

The girls went quiet, looking between each other. Jan pursed her lips.

“Well? Speak up.”

The girls all shook their heads, remained quiet. Was she out at Mr. Stark’s place, and they were covering for her? Jan shook her head, waved at the girls. “Fine. Get to your places. Ms. Blaire, give them any notes you have to account for the change.”

“Madam?”

Jan stopped when Ms. Blaire called to her. The rest of the girls scurried back stage while Ms. Blaire waited for them to file out. “Yes? Ms. Blaire?”

“Is everything all right?”

Jan waved her hand. “I’m sure of it. Ms. Stacy isn’t a foolish girl. I imagine Mr. Stark is holding her up, forcing her to work on one of his outlandish inventions.”

Ms. Blaire looked skeptical. “If you’re sure…” she conceded, slowly.

Jan smiled at her, patted her cheek. “Trust me, Alison. I just spoke with her the other week about this. She’s been doing some work for Mr. Stark—all honest work, not skimming from this place. I’m sure that’s where she is.”

Ms. Blaire nodded, a little more assured by Jan’s words. “If you say so, Madam.”

Jan smiled. “Go on. Get the girls ready for the show. I’ll go see if Ms. Stacy isn’t hurrying home right this minute.”

Jan stepped out from her business and onto the dusty streets of Rescue. The sun was still shining brightly, lower in the sky though it may have been. People bustled about the street: coming home from work, heading out to the saloon or brothel, once they opened. There was Mr. Maximoff, coming from the post office at the outskirts of town into the saloon. Surely to visit with his sister before she left for the evening. The Sheriff and his Deputy were both stepping from their office, sharing a laugh as their boots kicked up the dust from the road. Jan turned and squinted down the road, in the direction of Mr. Stark’s home. Gas lamps led the way, unlit in the steady sunlight of the day, but still a straight line pointing to the mad inventor’s home. Jan expected to see her girl racing down that road any minute, dress kissing the gas lamps as she hurried back to the brothel.

The shadows grew longer with no sign of Gwen Stacy. Jan pursed her lips and squinted around the town one more time. She had an hour, the girl, but they put on a full dress rehearsal during that time. Ms. Stacy knew this. Jan shook her head. Well, she wouldn’t be paid for this evening, that was certain.

Just as Jan turned back to her building, a cry rang out over the plains. She whipped around, eyes narrowed and scanning for the source of the noise. Another cry, louder than the first. This time, Jan could make out the panic in the voice. The fear. She tensed. Whoever was left on the streets was looking around with her, looking to one another, just as confused and almost as concerned as Jan herself was.

A minute, two later—though it felt like longer, felt like hours and hours—and a cloud of dust went up on one end of town. Jan raised her hand to her forehead, shielding her eyes from the late-afternoon sun. The dust stayed hanging in the air, but eventually the person kicking it up rout ran it, pulling into view. Or two people, Jan saw, as the forms of the two archers raced down the street. It was the grocer and his ward, Mr. Barton and… Ms. Bishop, that was it. Jan had offered her a job when the little thing had first washed up in rescue—not dancing, not yet, but serving tables. And with a plan to dance once she grew a little more, of course. But Barton had swooped in like the hawk he was and scooped her up, carried her off to his little nest. Jan wasn’t certain there wasn’t anything untoward happening between them—with any other man she would have been certain, but Barton did seem to have a real familial affection for the girl.

Jan was so wrapped up in her own thoughts that it was with a shock that she realized Mr. Barton and Ms. Bishop were coming to a stop in front of her.

“Ms. van Dyne!” Ms. Bishop called out. Jan took a step back. The girl was crying. Sobbing, hysterical. The sun went cold.

“Yes?” Jan stepped forward, fighting to regain her composure. She knew. They didn’t have to say it, and she knew.

Mr. Barton was covered in blood, Jan realized. She took another step forward, hands out. “Mr. Barton. Are you-”

But he shook his head. He was crying too, Jan saw. Not as hysterically as Ms. Bishop, but his eyes were red-rimmed, his cheeks wet with something that wasn’t sweat. “It’s not mine. None of it’s mine.” He wiped at the blood on his shirt, a pathetic, helpless gesture.

“Whose is it, then?” Jan asked coldly. She knew. She knew.

Mr. Barton shook his head. “I didn’t… we didn’t know what it was… thought it was a coyote, or a dear. Thought it was… thought it was anything besides…”

Ms. Bishop’s cries tore through the town, body shaking. Mr. Barton grabbed her, held her in his arms as she fell apart.

“It was that… that… It’s _out there_! We _knew_ it was _out there_!” she screamed. She beat against Mr. Barton’s arms. He stayed steady, body trapped around hers, keeping her safe. But his face, where Ms. Bishop couldn’t see it, was fallen apart.

Jan pressed her hand to her stomach. “Mr. Barton.”

“It’s Ms. Stacy. I… We think. We couldn’t…” his face was green. “We can’t tell. Couldn’t…”

Spine straight, heels high, corset tight, Janet van Dyne snapped her fan open and held it over her face. “Show me,” she told Mr. Barton.

Ms. Bishop tried to go with them. Mr. Barton wrangled with her until Mr. Maximoff came out of his sister’s saloon—with plenty of others—to see what the commotion was. To Jan’s surprise, Ms. Bishop was fine to go with him, passed off as Mr. Barton and Mr. Maximoff exchanged a few quiet words. Mr. Barton squeezed at Mr. Maximoff’s shoulder, and Jan’s eyes narrowed. But Mr. Maximoff’s expression was brotherly, his hand gruff but kind on Mr. Barton’s elbow and Ms. Bishop’s shoulder. And then Mr. Barton was hurrying back to Jan, expression hopelessly broken, and Jan was forced to bring her attention to the problem at hand. She hid her face behind her fan and remained grateful that these Americans didn’t know anything about eastern traditions.

“Where is she.”

Mr. Barton shook his head, then dunked his hands in the town water trough as they passed it. He splashed a few handfuls of water on his face, over his head, before shaking like a dog. He nodded, and then continued on. “Town limits. Katie and I were checking the traps. We…”

“How could she get caught in a trap? Ms. Stacy was a smart girl.” Jan focused on the details. The facts. Kept her breathing steady.

Mr. Barton shook his head. “She didn’t. She isn’t. Trap’s untouched. She’s just… near.”

“What do you think it was? Coyote, bear-”

Clint shook his head. His face was green again. “I don’t…”

They kept walking.

It was as they passed the last gas lamp that Jan caught sight of the shape in the grass. It was another several yards ahead of them, but Jan could see it. And could see that it didn’t even come close to resembling a human body anymore. She grabbed a hold of Mr. Barton’s arm. He covered her hand with his, squeezing tight.

“This lamp’s not working,” Mr. Barton explained as they passed it. “If we…. You should. Work quick. Without the light…”

Jan nodded. Held herself straight. Pulled her hand free of Mr. Barton’s. “Go back to town for me, if you would, Mr. Barton. Bring the undertaker, the doctor. A few spare hands: men or women with a strong stomach. We have to bring her in before nightfall.”

“Will you be-”

Eyes forward, feet steady. Jan clenched her fan in her fist. “Go, Mr. Barton. I will stay with her.”

Mr. Barton turned around and hurried back into town. The dusk raced to overtake him. Jan watched the shape in the grass. Counted the pieces.

The gas lamp didn’t flicker on.

* * *

 

Viciously Jan snapped her arm, cocking the shotgun. With a snarl she pulled the trigger, firing it into the air above Stark's house. The shot cracked through the air, splitting Jan's eardrums. Its echo was still reverberating over the plains when Jan fired the second shot. She shook her head, eardrums ringing even louder this time.  
  
" _STARK_!" She screamed, voice raw. Eyes dry, Jan flipped open her shotgun, ejecting the two spent cartridges. Her hands were steady as she loaded two live shells. She was shocked at how steady her hands were.  
  
Just as she snapped the barrel closed once more, the door to Stark's home opened. Jan pointed her shotgun at him without hesitation. His hands shot up. He was dressed only in his trousers, suspenders hanging down behind him.  
  
" _STARK_!" Jan shouted again. Her eye stared down the barrel of her shotgun, straight across to Stark's bare chest.  
  
"Ms. van Dyne-"  
  
"She's dead, Stark!" Jan shouted. Mr. Stark's chest rose and fell beneath the sight lines of her shotgun. "Torn apart! Mutilated!"  
  
Even from this distance, Jan could see Mr. Stark's face drain of blood. She started walking across his property towards him. Her gun stayed perfectly level.  
  
"Who's dead, Ms. van Dyne?"  
  
Jan kept her shotgun focused on Mr. Stark, even as Sheriff Rogers appeared in the threshold behind him.  
  
"My quarrel's not with you, Sheriff," Jan told him.  
  
"Ms. van Dyne. _Jan_." Mr. Stark's eyes were wide. "Who was it?"  
  
"Stacy," Jan gritted out. She was within ten yards of the men, now. Couldn't miss at this range. "Gwen Stacy. I know she was helping you out here. Know she spent her evenings running experiments in this mad-land of yours. Did one get away from you? Did she deny you, Mr. Stark? The man who doesn't know the meaning of the word 'no'?"  
  
Mr. Stark's jaw tightened. He made to take a step forward, before Sheriff Rogers grabbed at his arm, held him back. "You know I always treated your girls right. Better than right. And Ms. Stacy was like a daughter to me." His expression cracked, grief pouring through. "God Almighty, Jan: what happened?"  
  
"She was torn apart."  
  
"Coyotes?" Sheriff Rogers put forward immediately. Jan hadn't missed the way his hand stayed on Mr. Stark's elbow.  
  
Jan shook her head, once. Her jaw was tight. "Like nothing I've ever seen." She swallowed. Oh no. There was the grief. She pushed through it. "Desecrated. Mutilated. Like nothing in the wild could do. Like nothing Barton or Bishop had ever seen, either." Jan jerked her shotgun at Mr. Stark, making him flinch backwards into the sheriff. Jan grinned with no joy. "What was she working on, Mr. Stark? Where was she two nights ago?"  
  
Sheriff Rogers slipped a hand onto Mr. Stark's shoulder. "Now first of all, Ms. van Dyne, Mr. Stark was with me all evening." The sheriff's cheeks reddened. "I can vouch for him."  
  
"I'm sure you can," Jan spat.  
  
To Jan's surprise, Mr. Stark shrugged off the Sheriff's protecting hand and took a step forward. Then another, and another, until he was off his porch and standing level with Jan. She kept her shotgun pointed at his heart.  
  
"She _was_ here three days ago. Evening-time, before supper. Said she had some sort of hunch. Something she wanted to work on that night."  
  
"What was it." Jan's knuckles cracked as they tightened around her gun's stock.  
  
Mr. Stark licked his lips. Glanced around. "May we speak inside?" he asked.  
  
Jan opened her mouth to say no, unequivocally no. But then a breeze picked up, colder than it should be this time of year. Impossibly colder. The grass rustled on the plains, loud like thunder in the sudden, sustained silence. No crickets, no birds, no mice or cicadas. Jan went very, very still, and met Tony's eyes. He nodded at her.  
  
Still, no one could ever deny Jan was more brave than smart. She'd traveled five thousand miles of ocean, she'd gone another two thousand of land, and she’d washed up, a single woman alone in an island of almost-calm in the wild, wild West. So she stood her ground and lifted her chin. "You tell me now, Mr. Stark. Or I'll shoot you dead here and let Sheriff Rogers sort things out."  
  
Mr. Stark's lips tightened, but eventually he nodded. One hand out, as if to signal it wasn't a trick, he leaned in to press his lips to Jan's ear.  
  
"It's the gas lamps, Ms. van Dyne," he whispered, so low that it was nearly not a sound. "They're going out."  
  
The breeze died. The plains were silent. Jan shivered in the noonday sun.


End file.
